It is said that a stranger on the road who saw the Buddha was so struck by his calm radiance that he asked him, "Are you a god?" The Buddha replied, "No. I am not." "What are you then?" the man asked. And the Buddha said, "I am awake."
The offering of Zen practice is that we, too, can awaken. But what is awakening? At a personal level, awakening is a shift in consciousness in which thinking and awareness can be distinguished. For many of us, it is not a single event but a rather a process we undergo. Even people who experience a sudden and dramatic awakening will still go through an integration process in which the new state of awareness gradually comes to inform everything we do and so becomes a natural part of our lives. When we are awake, instead of being lost in thinking or reactive emotion, we identify with the awareness behind the contents and stories of the mind. Thinking then ceases to be an autonomous activity that takes possession of us and runs our lives. We can see the narratives, opinions, and habits that drive our inner lives, and we can choose to feel and act in a different way. We find we can live from awareness itself, and thinking becomes the servant of awareness. The Zen teacher Robert Aitken used to say that awakening is an accident, but meditation practice makes us accident-prone. We cannot make awakening happen by “doing it right.” There isn't a tidy sequence of logical steps that leads toward it, although the ego would love that. You don’t have to deserve awakening, it isn’t a reward, and it may look really different from what you imagine. Once you’ve had a glimpse of this awareness, you know it firsthand. As an old teacher said, when you taste your tea, you know for yourself if it is hot or cold. It is no longer a concept in your mind. You can then make a conscious choice to be present rather than to indulge in circular thinking or emotional reactivity. With the grace of personal awakening comes a view of the larger awakening of the world. When we see our place in this, awareness of our own responsibility is natural. Opening ourselves to this ongoing awareness and bringing its light into this world then becomes the primary purpose in our lives. Awakening is no longer primarily a personal experience, but rather an expression of our interdependence with all of life. To put it simply, awakening leads to a wish for the awakening of all beings. We dedicate ourselves to doing what we can to lessen suffering. But we do it in a way that’s humble, personal, humorous, and warm, not grandiose. We find our own particular way to participate in the awakening of the world.
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Traditional Buddhist practices and understandings of dreams is different from our Western psychological approaches. In pyschoanalysis and psychotherapy, dreams are, broadly speaking, usually seen as a message from the unconscious that can help us understand ourselves better.
In Eastern traditions, dreams are not only messages to the individual about her mind, but they are also messages for the group. Doing ritual dream work in a group helps us see intimately how our minds are connected, and how we can use dream images, processes, places, and events to do needed work on behalf of the larger culture. Buddhist dream practice is seen as a powerful aid in the process of awakening. In this view, waking life often has the quality of a dream, perhaps a repeating dream (think Groundhog's Day) or even a nightmare. This is our normal mode of operation. We walk around in a dream-like state, avoiding pain and trying to secure pleasure. This is the source of our suffering. Buddhist dream practice is based on a three-tiered model of mind. The outermost level is that of the individual psyche, the conscious and unconscious mind. The second level is the substrate consciousness, a subtle mind stream that is connected to the group and to previous generations. The third, deepest and most fundamental layer is the primordial consciousness, an ultimate level of wisdom where the "inner" and "outer" worlds are not separate. The realization of primordial consciousness is a key to awakening. So, we use dream practice to help us wake up! Dream practice prepares us to enter primordial consciousness by showing us that we are all connected, that our minds are not as separate as we may think. Dream practice can help us deeply understand the nature of mental processes, to penetrate to the source of the primordial mind. In our Practices of the Night retreat, we will learn dream practices for group dream work as well as for our awakening. We will learn traditional Buddhist practices for inviting and remembering dreams, we will do group dream work, and we will get an introduction to dream yoga, an ancient process for using dreams as spiritual practice. We will also learn about practices of deep sleep. There will also be lots of meditation, time to enjoy the land around Tomales Bay, and great food and people. It can be helpful to spend a period of time writing down your experiences in meditation just after you sit. This can help you become more familiar with your experience in meditation. By writing things down, we can cultivate awareness of of thoughts, feelings, and bodily states that come up in meditation. By recalling these experiences, we can identify patterns, obstacles, and develop tolerance and curiosity about our minds. Here are some basic instructions for journaling your meditation. I am indebted to Jason Siff's book Unlearning Meditation as the inspiration for this approach. 1. Find a quiet spot to meditate; either a cushion or a chair is fine. Decide how long you are going to meditate and have a timer or watch nearby. If you are new to meditation, try starting with ten minutes. If you are a more experienced meditator, try twenty to fifty minutes. 2. You may use any meditation technique you find helpful. Many people find that counting the breaths on the exhale, from one to ten, is a good way to stabilize the mind. If you have a koan, you can bring it in. You can also just let your mind go where it will, bringing attention back to the sensation of the hands touching each other or the contact of the body with the cushion or chair from time to time. 3. After the sitting, take a moment to recall what you can of the sitting. Have a notebook or journal nearby, and start by writing the date and duration of the meditation. 4. Write down as much as you can remember about what happened in your meditation. It doesn't have to be complete, exact, or in chronological order. You can write in a list form, or as a narrative. Start with what you remember most easily, then write other things that come to mind. Don't be a perfectionist about it! 5. It is normal that you will remember only a small part of what happened; that is just fine. Keep your entries focused on what actually happened during the meditation, rather than your analysis of your meditation. 6. You may also use creative formats, such as sketches or experimental writing. Here is a sample of a journal entry. Yours may be very different! February 3, 2016, 30 minutes Many thoughts about my office space, ways I could redecorate, worry about finances. A flash of anger at my rent increase. Started to feel that these aren't real concerns, but rather part of a bigger feeling of "something wrong." This lead to a distance from the thoughts and a curiosity about the pervasive "something wrong" feeling. I leaned into it and felt a heavy, sad energy, and it came as a feeling of weight in my heart and an image of brown sludge in my bloodstream. Having this feeling made me strangely happy. There were still thoughts about my office but they seemed slower and more transparent. I noticed a red glow behind my eyelids. The heater came on, and I worried I would get too warm and sleepy. Started to think that I'm becoming comfortable as my thoughts and feelings aren't frantic. Then thought my meditation is getting better, and thought I shouldn't evaluate my meditation. Returned to my breath. At some point rain started to fall on the skylight and I rode the patter of the rain. I had a strong feeling that the rain and I are intimate. When I was in college I took a class on World Religions, which was my first serious exposure to Buddhism. I got interested in Zen, and read all the books in the library on it, mostly by D.T. Suzuki and Alan Watts. My professor also lead a zazen group that met before class; I went as often as I could. I didn't understand why, but the practice was important to me. It showed me that there is a way to explore our experience that didn't require belief or dogma. After several years of desultory practice in my early 20's, I ended up living in Madison, WI for a few years, just a few blocks from the local Zen Center. I was vaguely rootless and depressed, and taking up the practice gave me a way to start to understand and explore my suffering. I was hooked! That group was affiliated with the Rochester Zen Center, an established traditional practice center, and I soon began to do sesshin (long retreat) in Madison, Chicago, and Rochester. I became a student of Sensei Bodhin Kjolhede, who gave me my first koan. The sesshin were quite rigorous and strict: no moving in zazen, long hours of sitting, running for dokusan, getting rung out time after time. This was actually great for me at the time, as I was young and benefited from the intensity and structure. I am grateful to Bodhin for his encouragement in those early years. In 1995 I moved back to California, and asked Bodhin who I should work with there; he sent me to John Tarrant's group, then called California Diamond Sangha (John is an heir of Robert Aitken). They changed their name to Pacific Zen Institute a few years later. I began sitting with their Oakland affiliate, Oakland Zendo, affectionately known as OZ. We did sesshin several times a year at St. Dorothy's Rest in Sonoma County. John's group, PZI, couldn't have been more different from Bodhin's. While both taught in the koan tradition, John was hardly a traditionalist. He emphasized innovation and improvisation, and always looked for ways to make the practice contemporary without losing its essence. Retreats featured coffee, music with Richie Domingue, art with Mayumi Oda, group koan improvisation, and many wonderful teachers. I continued my koan work there, and became a practice leader. I also met Joan Sutherland, who was just starting to teach. I was blown away by her brilliance, and was so grateful to have a woman role model. She became my primary teacher, and I did Jukai with Joan and John in 1998. During this time I was practicing with a lot of emotion, old conditioning and mental habits. I was also entering the koan way. During the 90s I was doing four or five sesshin per year, really throwing myself into the practice. I was also a graduate student getting my Ph.D. in clinical psychology. Things really shifted about 2001. First, my son was born, which meant fewer sesshin (though he attended several as a baby) and more parenting practice! Joan also left PZI to teach independently, and I went with her. Between 2002 and 2007 we did a series of retreats together. This was a sweet time for me as I had lots of time with Joan, long luxurious dokusans, collaborations, and enjoyment of the koans. Joan moved to Santa Fe in 2007, the same year I started psychoanalytic training at PINC. There she established Awakened Life, a wonderful practice community. I went out to Santa Fe once or twice a year for sesshin, and continued to work with Joan on koans by phone. Before she left Joan had asked me to teach Zen, but I didn't feel ready. It was a busy time of life for me, and I wanted to see where the dharma would figure in. By 2014, big changes were happening. Joan's health, never robust, had taken a turn for the worse, and she had to retire from teaching. Of course this was a huge loss to many of us. I also decided I was ready to teach, and became a Sensei (authorized teacher) in a private ceremony on a houseboat with Joan. I also started Crimson Gate, a sangha for mental health professionals, at first with just a few people. Over the past two years, Crimson Gate has grown in ways I'm excited about. We sit together weekly, and do two sesshin per year with Rachel Howlett's group, CityZen. We are doing our first solo weekend retreat in March. I'm offering dokusan and koan work for those who want it. I'm also happy to be a part of the Open Source, a network of Joan's other dharma heirs in the Western US. I look forward to what the future holds! I am committed to continuing Joan and John's tradition of koan innovation, Zen practice for contemporary life, community building, and opportunities for diving deep. This Way has profoundly transformed my life, and I'm grateful to be able to support others in their practice. It's the season for New Year's resolutions, and lots of folks are saying that this is the year they will take up a regular meditation practice. Unfortunately, most of them won't make it past mid-January. So what's the trick? Here are some tips, based on my work with many students who have managed to commit to meditation, and even enjoy it! 1. Regularity is more important than the amount of time. At first, try just five minutes of meditation per day. (If you need basic instruction, look here). Anyone can do five minutes, but starting with 20 or 30 minutes is too daunting at first. But try to do it every day. You may find you want to move up to ten minutes in a week or two--go for it! 2. When you miss a day, don't get discouraged or beat yourself up. Just start over, and do it today. Meditation is all about starting fresh, with this breath, this moment. 3. Get clear on your intention. Why is this important to you? Write it down, and be specific. Don't just say "I should meditate more." Say "I intend to practice for five minutes in the morning before work because it keeps me grounded and present for myself and the people in my life." 4. Establish a time and place. Set up a meditation nook in your home or at your office with a cushion or chair, and perhaps a candle, figure, or anything else that's meaningful to you. Most people find it's best to establish a regular time for practice. For many people, first thing in the morning is an excellent time. Some people sit in the evenings, And some practice in their offices between appointments. It's not essential that your meditation always be at the same time; if you miss your morning practice, do it in the evening. But establishing a habit is the best way to make meditation a regular part of your life. 5. Join a group. You will be much more likely to have a thriving practice if you practice with a community. Meditation groups provide sangha (spiritual community), inspiration, support, and tradition. Many groups also offer the chance to work with a teacher. Meditation teachers can help when you encounter obstacles, guide you to deeper levels of practice, and offer a connection to an authentic lineage of Buddhist practitioners. If you really want to dive deeply into practice, community and a teacher are essential. 6. Mix it up. While basic meditation practice will take you far, it's good to know about other techniques. If you are very restless, walking meditation might be just the ticket. If you are feeling very upset, metta practice could be just what you need. And if you are looking to develop creativity and spiritual insight, try koan practice. 7. Try a class. We are offering a four-week introductory class on establishing and deepening a meditation practice starting this January. This is a way to gain skills, have support, and develop community for your practice. For more information, and to register, go here. As we head into the dark time of the year, many of us have heavy hearts. The news has not been good lately. Racism, gun violence, terrorism, and environmental disaster loom large. How can we handle the ups and downs of life in these difficult times without giving into despair or hardening our hearts? Here is the beginning of an article by my teacher, Joan Sutherland Roshi, from Buddhadharma Magazine in 2008. I find help and inspiration here. "Several years ago, in the face of a creeping despair about the state of the world, I began to reread my favorite twentieth-century Russian and East European writers. Those folks knew how to keep small embers alive in a fierce wind: Anna Akhmatova, who turned love into a revolutionary act, and Adam Zagajewski, reassuring us that the good always returns, though at the maddening pace of an old gent on a bicycle, the day after the catastrophe. People are worried, and we’re looking for ways to climb onto our bicycles and pedal out to see what we might do to help. Recently, I’ve been exploring what my own Zen koan tradition has to say about unending conflict, environmental disaster, the starvation of millions, and the small figure in the corner of the painting, tipping her head back to take it all in. It turns out that the koan tradition was born at a similarly urgent moment in Chinese history. Twelve hundred years ago, a few Chan innovators had a fierce desire to leap out of the usual ways of doing things and into new territory—not to escape the catastrophe looming around them, but to more fully meet it. If they were going to be helpful they had to develop—and quickly—flexibility of mind, an easy relationship with the unknown, and a robust willingness to engage with life as they found it. Perhaps most importantly, they needed a really big view. For them, Chan practice wasn’t about getting free of the world; it was about being free in the world. The first koans are field notes from their experiment in the getting of this kind of freedom." To read the rest of the article, go here. A group of us are just back from sesshin, a traditional Zen retreat. In case you've ever wondered what sesshin is like, I thought I'd share some pictures, descriptions, and vignettes from this recent retreat. This sesshin lasted for five days and nights, and was held in the forest-fringed hills of western Sonoma County, at Lydia House, St. Dorothy's Rest, a lovely old retreat center perched at the crest of a bluff. Our sesshins are held in conjunction with CityZen of Santa Rosa, a sister group lead by Rachel Mansfield-Howlett, Roshi. At St. Dot's we had a zendo overlooking the golden hills, a great room with a roaring fire in the mornings and evenings, a big kitchen, simple but comfortable lodging, plus miles of trails for wandering during breaks. It's a beautiful and serene setting, and a place some of us have been coming back to for decades. Not to mention a welcoming and mature group of practitioners. Sesshin is a very structured environment; almost every minute is accounted for. People often think this sounds hard, but it's actually incredibly liberating; you don't need to make many decisions about how to spend your time, and you are completely free to focus on what is happening right now. We keep silence, which means no chatting, no social greetings, though we do talk as needed to do jobs, ask questions, or to speak with the teacher about our practice. Here's a walk through the typical sesshin day. We rise at 4:30 am, and are seated in the zendo (meditation hall) by 5 for tea. Early morning meditation may be my favorite time. We begin with only candle light, and watch as the dawn slowly breaks over the hills. It feels really silent and still and dreamy. We always alternate rounds of seated meditation with periods of walking meditation, to stretch our bodies and keep the energy moving. By the time breakfast is served at 7, magenta clouds are streaked across the sky. All our meals are in silence, which offers an opportunity to really savor the food. After each meal,there is a break, during which we may nap, shower, walk, write, paint, or do work practice. A word about the food! We are fortunate to have a wonderful tenzo (head cook) Vikki Kath, who sources fresh local produce to provide delicious vegetarian meals. No sacrifice, no macrobiotics! There is plenty of great food, and yes, you can get a cup of coffee! Most of us work in the kitchen at some point during the day, helping chop veggies, cook, and clean up, Kitchen practice is a great way to extend meditation into activity, and is a highlight of sesshin for many of us. We gather again at 9 am, and start the mid-morning by chanting our sutra service. It's mostly in English, so quite accessible, and is a lovely way to touch into the key teachings of our Zen tradition. Our chanting and singing is accompanied by guitar and drums. It feels great to use our voices and really sing out! After the sutras, we continue to alternate sitting and walking meditation until lunch. There is also an opportunity for dokusan (individual meetings with the teacher to discuss one's practice). Most of us have dokusan once a day during sesshin. After the lunch break (a great time for a hike!) we begin the afternoon with a dharma talk by a senior student or teacher, often followed by a conversation. Then we settle in for more meditation. Late in the afternoon we take a long outside walk together, taking our walking meditation into nature. There is more opportunity for dokusan in the afternoon as well. By the time the shadows start to get long, it's time for dinner! In the evening, after the dinner break, we gather by a roaring fire for a dharma talk by the Roshi (senior teacher). It's a chance to get inspired about the practice, to bring questions, and to learn more about this Way. There is more meditation before our evening closing ceremony, which is a lovely mix of bells, chants, bows, and words. We are done for the day by 9 pm, and most of us are in bed shortly thereafter! So, that's the outer form. What's the inner experience like? That's different each time, and for each person. Many people experience great silence. Sometimes old wounds come up to be healed. And sometimes people catch a piece of the light, the light of our true nature, which we already have but can feel elusive in everyday life. If you're curious, come sit with us on a Sunday night, and ask about our next sesshin in May! People tend to think of meditation as something they “should” do, and then they evaluate the supposed quality of the meditation. I’m here to propose another approach. Meditation can be an opportunity to savor pleasure! Meditation is a feast for the senses. It is extravagant and outrageous. It is an opportunity to revel in the lusciousness of being alive. Meditation allows for an opening of the senses. Try bringing to this openness a feeling of full appreciation and enjoyment of the world, just as it is. In this way, we can cultivate an aesthetic perception of our lives and ourselves. Allow your favorite sensory pleasure to be the object of meditation. If you are sitting in the sun, fully delight in the warmth and relaxation. If you are eating delicious food, slow down and revel in each bite. If you are making love, surrender completely to the rhythms and vertiginous pleasures. Each sense is a world of wonder that we tend to take for granted. Meditation is an opportunity to luxuriate in your sensuous experience. Here is a way to start. In your seated meditation, instead of “trying to focus on the breath,” practice “enjoying the breath.” Approach your breath with interest and appreciation. Allow yourself to include other sensations, sounds, and emotions. Allow yourself to appreciate the texture of the breath, its motion, its sound, its temperature, the ways it nurtures and supports you. You can fall in love with the breath. Extraordinary realms of subtle sensation can open to you with this practice. Enjoy! Working skillfully with procrastination and avoidance to create a steady practice Probably everyone who has ever tried to take up a meditation practice has encountered it: Resistance. I don't feel like it. I'll do it later. I forgot. Resistance is the biggest obstacle to regular practice, so it deserves some inquiry. What is resistance, and how can we most skillfully work with it? Resistance is a toxic force. Its aim is to push us away from practice, to distract us, to prevent us from taking up the Way. Its favorite tactics include privileging immediate gratification, rationalization ("I don't have time"), procrastination, and avoidance. Resistance can seem to come from outside ourselves, as kids, work, and obligations. But the truth is, Resistance is self-generating and self-perpetuating. Resistance is only loyal to itself, and it uses our fear and greed as its front line. Resistance doesn't want us to take up a meditation practice, because if we do, we threaten its existence and its dominance over us. In order to work with Resistance, we must change our mindset and our loyalty. The move here is from fear and greed, to commitment. In Zen we call this taking a vow. When we take up the path of practice, we make that our north star; we orient our lives toward that. Then it doesn't matter much what I want or what I'm afraid of; I'm going to practice anyway. Not that the fear and cravings go away; they don't. But we don't have to obey them, and they don't set the terms of what we do. You actually know how to do this if you have a job. You go to work whether you feel like it or not. You show up, you stay even when things are difficult, you are committed over the long haul. Having a committed practice is like this. We show up no matter what. We don't make excuses. We invest time and energy and love into what we are doing. We don't quit when things are difficult. We seek out community and teachings and opportunities to grow. When you begin to shift from Resistance to Vow, incredible changes can happen. You can fundamentally re-align your life. And we are here to support you in this transformation. We are trained from an early age to answer questions. We spend years in school gaining knowledge and skills; there is a high value on getting the “right answer.” We prefer certainty, clarity, knowledge.
But the way of the Buddha values questions themselves, without the compulsion to get an answer. Our very existence poses big questions to us, which we can take up in our meditation. Who am I? Why are we here? Why is there suffering? What’s the meaning of life? What happens after we die? This path allows us to pour ourselves into our question, never resting on any answer. We may find confusion, not knowing, and provisional answers, and still, we keep going further. In our tradition, we talk about being able to respond to a question, rather than answer it. Our response can be a living response, which is never fixed. To be able to really live into questions and responses is to cultivate what the poet Keats called “negative capability,”, the ability to be “capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” Once we find something we believe in, some certainty, we tend to abandon the original question. But for psychotherapists and other healers, the capacity for negative capability vastly expands the territory that is available to us, as well as our responsiveness. It’s one reason why I believe that Zen practice, and in particular koan practice, which is all about questions, is so helpful to us in our work (as well as the rest of life). There are several opportunities this fall to take up your own burning questions. There will be a four-week Introduction to Meditation for Mental Health Professionals workshop in September (for more information, go here). We will also have a forty-day practice period beginning in October. Plus a day-long retreat and a five-day sesshin coming up as well. If you are interested in cultivating the field of question and response in a community of others on the same path, join us! |
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AuthorMegan Rundel is the resident teacher at the Crimson Gate Meditation Community in Oakland, CA.. Archives
April 2020
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